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You climb into the front seat and slide next to Woody while Jaime drives. The two cousins are sitting and staring out the window, quiet and contemplative. Jaime adjusts the front seat, the rear mirrors, and the steering wheel. The engine coughs itself awake and settles into a purr, and the whole frame shakes as it starts up, like a beast rising to crawl across the open plains. Next to you, Woody folds his arms and leans back in the seat. His rifle stands on his thigh, and he keeps watch as the van pulls out of the parking lot.

You reach for bottle of alcohol, take a long sip, and for at least a moment, feel your stress slip away.

"What a day. What a day," Woody says.

"What a week," Jaime adds and leans far back in his seat, which whines with strain. "What's on your mind, Luth? We haven't talked much since the hallway. How you feeling about the high school?"